So I'm going to give you the chapter, but I'm hoping you'll let me bitch about my recent chocolate misfortune first. To do so, I am even going to attempt, for the first time in this journal, a DOUBLE LJ cut. I don't know if I mentioned it here, but I recently came up with a brilliant plan to use my natural laziness as a weapon to combat my excessive consumption of chocolate, particularly late at night.
I gathered up all my chocolate from its various too-accessible locations around my apartment and stashed it in the trunk of the car. For those of you who are suddenly sporting little frowns of confusion, allow me to explain the logic behind this decision. Every night at approximately 11 pm, I get hit with a chocolate craving. The invisible little devil who sits on my right shoulder says, "Hey get a piece of chocolate. Just one won't hurt you." The little devil knows very well that I can't stop at just one. The little angel who counterbalances him on my left shoulder immediately pops into corporeality and scolds me for the very thought. "At eleven o'clock?" she rants. "What are you thinking of? Just go to bed and have chocolate in the daytime."
She makes sense, I know she does. But I invariably listen to the little devil and eat way more chocolate than is conducive to a good night's sleep. That stuff's full of caffeine, y'all! Why does nobody TELL me these things???
Anyway, my clever idea was to stash my considerable supply of chocolate in the trunk of the car, the rationale being that if I really wanted some, it wasn't far away, and all I would have to do would be to change out of my pajama pants and into some REAL pants, (neighbors, you know...) put on my shoes, fetch house and car keys and an umbrella if necessary, and then go downstairs and outside to liberate some chocolate from the trunk of the car.
You guys can just quit laughing, right now! It was working, goddammit! Half the time I was just too lazy to change my clothes, get my keys and walk down the stairs and out into the weather. So I was actually listening to the angel and going to bed without eating lots of caffeine-laden sweets.
But then tragedy struck.
The car was robbed, and only the trunk, not the main part. This is probably because we have an alarm on the doors that does not extend its protection to the trunk. ALL my chocolate was stolen. They didn't leave me any.
The following is a list of the casualties:
-4 boxes of very good quality German chocolate Kirsch cherries.
-1 box of almondillos, which are so incredibly delicious that I have had extremely lifelike dreams about them. (Incidentally, they are no longer available in the stores. They only ever come out at Christmas.)
-1 box of chocolate nut clusters. I don't remember their name, but they looked and smelled expensive.
My husband also lost a few of his belongings as well, but at least HE wasn't stupid enough to keep all his snacks in the trunk.
I can't help feeling that this is God's idea of a joke. You see, Lent begins next Wednesday, and starting on that day, I can have no more chocolate (among other things) for a reeeeeally long time. So, I'll admit that I have been kind of eating way more chocolate than usual in an effort to finish it all before D-day. Now that 'responsibility' has been taken away from me, so to speak.
I just hope that the new owner of my beautiful chocolates is a connoisseur like me and doesn't just gobble them down mindlessly without any foreplay. What a terrible thought!
Okay, I'll admit that I HAVE been consoling myself with those chocolate caramel dipped pretzel sticks they sell at Starbucks. Have you ever dipped one of those suckers into a cup of coffee and sucked and licked all the molten chocolate and caramel off? Believe me, it's a sensual experience that is not to be missed. But be careful about doing it in front of men. They can't help staring with their mouths hanging slightly open. ( I turn away and face the wall. This is a private experience between my chocolate and me.)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, you say. Enough of your little fetishes and their soap-opera dramas. Where's the damn chapter?
It's here. Thank you for patiently listening to my sad and cautionary tale. By the way, it's currently almost worksafe.
FAKE First Year Together: A New Day (May) Chapter 30 Pairing: Dee/Ryo Fandom: FAKE Rating: REALLY NOT WORKSAFE anymore! Spoilers: To Volume 7 Timing: Set in May directly after Book 7 ended Summary: Ryo is coming to terms with the changes in his relationship with Dee, as well as his new sexual identity. Meanwhile, Dee and Ryo are trying to find enough evidence to expose a crooked cop. This story explores homophobic attitudes but is primarily a love story between two men. Disclaimer: I do not own FAKE or any of the characters created by Sanami Matoh (Tina Greenspan, Mike Abernathy, Ned Shaver and Essien Ibo are mine, however). No one gives me money or even chocolate to write this story. *Sigh.* Author's notes: No cliffy this time. The fever has left me. But it'll be back! Please read and review. Thank you mtemplar
A New Day Chapter 30 Both hands wrapped around his gun, Dee stood poised for action, every muscle in his body taut and ready. To hell with regulations -- he was damn well going to shoot first and ask questions later. Assuming, of course, that anyone was still alive and able to speak after the dust cleared, including himself. And if Shaver had any sense, he would have puked his way over to his spare gun as unobtrusively as possible and gotten himself ready to provide backup. If he and Shaver between them managed to get off the first couple of rounds, they might be able to even the odds a little. "Hey man, don't go in there -- my kid's in there!" Shaver's voice pleaded. "Your kid?" To Dee's amazement, Ibo's voice actually sounded concerned. "Hold up, Jimmy. What the hell's your kid doing here? It's fucking Monday. He should be in school." "Yeah, that's what I"--Shaver made another retching sound. "That's what I told him too... Oh... Urghllhh!" It sounded to Dee as though he were puking up half of his internal organs. "Aw, fuck that's gross." It was Jimmy's voice, and he was obviously still right outside the bathroom door. Figuring he had nothing to lose at this point by playing along, Dee called out in his best imitation of Bikky's voice, "Dad? I'm scared!" "Holy fuck!" came another voice. "There IS a fucking kid in there." Dee suddenly realized he should drop down a little in case they were able to discern that the 'kid's' voice they heard was issuing from the wrong height. Sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, he waited, semi-automatic pistol cocked and ready to fire, in case the bastards came in anyway. He had locked the door, naturally, but one good kick would fix that. "Stand down, boys," he heard Ibo mutter. "We're done here anyway." Then the man called through the door, "It's okay, sunshine. We were just having a little fun with your dad. Everything's fine out here." "Go away!" Dee called out once more in Bikky's voice. Detective Shaver had risen to his knees from an all-fours position, vomit dripping from his chin. He couldn't believe Ibo was actually buying this, although he had to admit that Laytner was doing a pretty good acting job in there. He didn't sound like Kev, of course, but he sounded passably like a kid. "We're goin', kiddo, don't you worry." Ibo chuckled, and turned back to Ned, his eyes hard again. "Wednesday night," he said in a soft but chilling voice. "Eleven o'clock. I was able to reschedule Rizzo. If you miss this one, your kid in there's gonna grow up without a daddy." He brought his leering face close to Shaver's. "But I'm sure his mama will find him a new daddy, eh?" Detective Shaver could feel his eyes narrowing and his lips twisting back from his teeth in a snarl, but despite the fact that there was nothing he could do to stop his features from forming an expression of naked hatred, he managed to keep his mouth shut. He knew when he was outnumbered, outgunned, and outclassed in the muscle department. It also didn't help that he was on his knees in front of a puddle of his own vomit. Although he badly wanted to drive his fist into Ibo's scarred but still handsome face for the threat and the trash talk, he knew it would end up being the last thing he would ever do. And if it was revenge he wanted, a simple punch in the nose wasn't going to cut it. Not after everything he had been through with these bastards. So he swallowed what was left of his pride, and nodded. "Okay, Wednesday," he growled, and then ruined the effect by gagging as the bile rose in his throat again. "What about the fruit, boss?" "Get it." One of the goons disappeared out into the hallway and returned with a large, beribboned basket of fruit, which he dumped on the floor in front of Shaver. "Compliments of the Stone Bloods. Get well soon, you useless sonofabitch." And they were gone, the heavy tread of their boots drowning out all other sounds on the third floor. The door had barely closed behind them before the phone started ringing. Dee yanked the bathroom door open and looked about warily, his eyes alighting on the basket of fruit with a keen look. He and Shaver glanced at each other, and Dee thought they were probably both thinking the same thing, which was that they'd been damn lucky. Neither of them was really in any condition for a fight. Shaver staggered to his feet, wincing, and drew his sleeve across his vomit-smeared mouth. On his way to the phone, he managed to stumble over the fruit basket, which brought on a fit of cursing. A quick look at the call display appeared to make him even angrier. "Shit. It's my fucking bitch of an ex-wife. Jesus, can this day get any worse?" He picked up the phone, however and growled, "Yeah." Dee waited impatiently, hoping this call wouldn't take too long. Not only had they just had an incredibly narrow escape, but a couple of things were also not adding up. He needed some answers from Detective Shaver, who appeared to be getting quite steamed up over his phone conversation. "Sheila, I TOLD you I'd go to the fuc-- to the garden shop when I was feeling better. I'm injured; don't you understand that?' Dee could hear a strident female voice reciting what sounded like a litany of complaints, and whatever she was saying was making Shaver's face and neck turn beet red and his teeth grind together. He interrupted her to holler, "No you don't have to tell me again! Potting soil and fertilizer, right? And a stupid planter that weighs a ton and apparently has your name on it! Do you realize I can barely lift a mug right now? I can hardly fucking walk! I've been puking my guts up!" Sheila's voice rose again, quite operatically this time, and Shaver interrupted her to yell about what a heartless bitch she was and how he hoped she didn't treat Kevin as badly as she treated him. The decibels in the room reached such an acute level that the neighbor began pounding on the wall again, and Dee was forced to wave his arms in front of Shaver to bring his attention to this fact. "I gotta go, Sheila. I'll call you when I'm physically able to be your little errand boy again," he snarled sarcastically into the phone, and hung up swearing. "Come on, man, take it easy," Dee said. "You're gonna burst a blood vessel." "Women! That fucking cow acts like I gotta be her slave for life just because I didn't turn out to be the kind of wallet-on-legs husband she wanted. You got a wife, Detective?" Dee held up a hand in mock horror. "Nope, and I don't intend to have one, either." "You're a wiser man than I am." Shaver's voice was as bitter as three-day-old coffee. "Look, Detective... Can we not talk about women right now? I mean, we both almost got done in back there and I wanna know what the hell just happened." Dee lit two cigarettes and handed one to Shaver. He suddenly realized that he had a throbbing headache that he had had no awareness of while the Stone Bloods had been on the other side of the wall. "Yeah, right. Sorry. I had to take that call. It could've been about my son." "Yeah, whatever," Dee said. "I thought you said your pals there knew you were too hot to touch. But it seems like they want you at their little party on Wednesday night real bad." Shaver was silent, so Dee continued. And what the hell did you mean when you said if they found me here we were both dead? I mean, what the fuck is that about? They know you're a cop and that you work in a building full of cops. What's so wrong about you having a fellow cop come over to visit you?" Shaver looked uncomfortable. "Ibo's got a major job he wants me to do, but he recently found out that Mike owns me. Since Mike's doing some business with the Devils, this is a problem for Ibo. He trusts me a whole lot less than he used to. I was supposed to go to a meeting on Sunday night. I was off work for the weekend and Ibo had told me not to go near any other cops until after the meeting. He promised that if I did, he'd blow my fucking head off. Fuck. Like I couldn't just pick up a phone. But I got his point." He took a drag of his cigarette, inhaling deeply. "But neither of us knew that the Devils were gonna do a number on me on Saturday night. After they got through with me, there was no way I could make that meeting. Ibo freaked and demanded I be there anyway, beating be damned. I got mad and said that if he and his people had been looking out for me the way they should have, it never would have happened in the first place." "Bet he loved that." "Well, I hung up and then pissed him off even more by not going to the meeting and not answering his goddamn calls. I had a feeling he'd come round today, but I didn't know whether it would be to kill me or get me for another meeting. And if he'd found me with another cop, he definitely woulda killed me. And you too, just in case I'd told you the details about what he's trying to set up." "Sounds big." "It is. And he can’t afford to have it screwed up by a flunky like me." "You gonna tell me about it?" "Get me a fucking deal first. You got until Wednesday afternoon." "As you mentioned earlier, I could put a tail on you." "Don't. Your guys'll get popped. I guarantee it, and I already got enough on my conscience. Your best bet is if I go in wired. It's a huge risk for me, and I ain't willing to take it if all you got waiting for me is jail. Got it?" Dee nodded. "Wednesday afternoon," Shaver repeated. "Now, I hate to be rude to a guest, Detective, but I think you'd best get the hell outta here before I get any more fucking visitors. The way my luck is going today, it's likely to be Mike next." Almost as soon as those words had left his mouth, there was a sharp rap on the door, which caused both men to jump and eye each other cautiously. "Who the hell is it?" Shaver yelled. "Manager." Shaver strode to the door and opened it, only to have a piece of paper thrust into his hands. "What the---?" "You're evicted, sir," the manager said. "I don't care if you're a cop. You've been nothing but trouble and this is a respectable building. I want you out by the end of the month." "The end of the month? That's fucking Wednesday!" &^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&
